


Charming Tinkerbell

by moonfairy13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #fairysafe, Costumes, F/M, FairySafe, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fred Weasley Lives, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Peter Pan References, Samhain, Secret Admirer, The Burrow (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26476963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfairy13/pseuds/moonfairy13
Summary: “Dear Hermione,You’ve already risked so much for our world. But would you take one more tiny chance, if it meant the possibility of lifelong happiness?”Hermione receives an invitation to a costume party from a secret admirer, who has also sent her an outfit to wear. Is it worth the risk, especially given that she already has her eye on a nearby redheaded prankster?
Relationships: George Weasley/Oliver Wood, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Comments: 37
Kudos: 195
Collections: 2020 Fremione Costume Party





	Charming Tinkerbell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fremione Fanatics 2020 Fremione Costume Party fest 🥰

“Dear Hermione,

You’ve already risked so much for our world. But would you take one more tiny chance, if it meant the possibility of lifelong happiness?”

Hermione looked up from the note that she was reading. No-one else seemed to be paying attention to the letter that the small grey owl had dropped in front of her on the breakfast table, or to the even smaller green box that it was tied to. Mostly because Ron and Harry had both received confirmation that their Auror training would commence the following week, and the pair’s excitement was both loud and infectious.

Tuning out their conversation, she lifted a piece of buttered toast to her mouth as she read on.

“You and I are both invited to the Weasleys’ Samhain costume party tonight. I’d love you to be my date. In the hope that you’ll accept, I’ve taken the liberty of enclosing a costume. You can check with Ginny Weasley if you have concerns, but be aware that she has taken an unbreakable vow to not reveal my identity.

Please send the owl back with your reply. I’ve told her you might need time to think about it. She’ll wait, but perhaps you could see if you can find her a bit of bacon.”

There was only one more line left to read.

“From a secret admirer who thinks it’s time someone took care of you for a change.”

Without thinking twice, Hermione reached forward, pulled a piece of bacon from the plate and took it to the window. She broke it in two, giving half to the owl who had brought her note and then fed the other bit to Pigwidgeon, who was perching beside his new friend. 

Back at the table, Hermione realised that Ginny was watching her, and the younger witch picked up her plate and went to sit beside Hermione.

“He’s genuine, I promise,” she said. Then, as if it would explain everything, “I spoke to him last night, after Mum sent the invitations out.”

Hermione looked sideways at her friend.

“Why did you agree to take an unbreakable vow?”

Ginny shrugged, and then smiled. “Because he asked me to, and I trust him. He and I both knew that you’d get it out of me straight away if I didn’t. And he knows you’d worry, so he asked me to reassure you without telling you who he is.”

Well, Hermione thought, at least I know a few things from that. He’s a wizard. He’s someone who knows me enough to predict my behaviour. Ginny trusts him, and he sounds like he cares about me. That has to count for something. Then her face fell.

“Not Ron?” she whispered, her eyes darting across the table to where he and Harry were now having a pretend wand fight. “Because that would not be a good idea!”

Ginny shook her head, patting Hermione. She knew better than anyone how disastrously their attempt at dating had gone a few months prior. The witch looked across at her youngest brother. “Hey Ron,” she said, realising that she had learned something late the previous evening that Hermione didn’t yet know. “Have you told everyone who you’re bringing to the party?”

“Lavender,” he mumbled, with a mouth full of scrambled egg. “She’s out of the hospital now, and we’ve been seeing each other for a couple of weeks. I owled her late last night.” He held up the reply that Hermione hadn’t noticed, but which had arrived at the same time as his letter from the Ministry.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” said Hermione; genuinely happy to hear that Ron had found someone that he could be happy with. And relieved that she could rule him out. But that still left plenty of other possibilities; some of whom were more palatable than others. 

She leaned back, thinking. Molly and Arthur had only made the decision the previous afternoon, and Molly had said that it wasn’t going to be an enormous gathering; just family and friends, yet she had still spent the evening sending invitations out left, right and centre. Hermione could trust that she would probably already know whoever had asked her. But even the sweet options – like Neville, or Seamus – well, Hermione didn’t want to lead them on. Right now, one particular wizard had her attention, and she had spent the half hour before she fell asleep the previous night wondering whether she could pluck up enough courage at such short notice to ask him to be her date. Now, she thought, as she looked at the box that her ‘secret admirer’ had sent, she didn’t know what to do.

“I can tell you three things,” Ginny said, when Hermione turned back. “It’s not a Slytherin or a death eater, it’s not a cruel joke, and it’s somebody I trust.”

“Would you go on a date with them?” Hermione asked, carefully watching Ginny’s face.

“Ew! No!” Ginny spoke without thinking, and then quickly added. “Because of Harry, of course. I wouldn’t date anyone else. But I’d be very happy for any of my friends to go on a date with him,” she smiled. “I can’t tell you anything else, sorry,” she said. “What will you do?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied, fingering the edges of the box that apparently contained her costume. “Take this upstairs and see what’s in it, I suppose.”

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

But, a couple of hours later, Hermione still hadn’t looked in the box. She had taken a long bath, weighed up the options, had two cups of tea with Molly – while resisting the maternal witch’s concerned questions about what was occupying her mind – and dressed in a new denim-coloured tunic and leggings before flooing to a certain address in Diagon Alley.

“Well, well, well,” came George Weasley’s delighted voice, as Hermione stepped out of the shop floo and almost bumped straight into him. He grabbed her into a hug, lifted her off her feet and spun her in a slow circle. “To what do we owe this pleasure? Though I imagine you’re not here to see me?” He winked. “You looking for the ugly twin?”

Hermione smiled and nodded, trying to keep the blush from her face. She was ninety-nine per cent sure that George knew that she had a crush on his brother. But, thanks to the scale of his gratitude and the depth of the relationship the two had formed after she had saved Fred from a falling wall and then quietly and solidly sat vigil with George for three days and nights beside his brother’s hospital bed, the younger twin never spoke of it directly. Or, she hoped, mentioned it to Fred himself. For which Hermione was eternally grateful. She had spent all summer wondering whether to say something to Fred, whether to just ride her feelings and assume that, in time, she would get over them, or whether to find an occasion on which she could throw caution to the wind, drink half a bottle of firewhisky and then plonk herself in the elder twin’s lap to see what happened. 

The worst of it, she thought, as she bid George a temporary farewell and followed the direction of his pointing finger to the back room, where product creation and production was carried out, was that she and Fred had become such good friends of late. Hermione and some of the others were helping the twins set the shop back to normal after the war, and she and Fred had discovered – and delighted in – a shared love of complex magic. They both loved combining potions and charms and, upon realising her interest and talent, the twins had enlisted Hermione to work with them until she figured out what she wanted to do. The closer the pair became, the harder it was to contemplate risking their friendship and telling Fred, who might not feel the same way.

“Hello, love,” he said cheerfully, putting a stasis charm on his cauldron and edging round the desk to give her a kiss. Forgetting that he was wearing protective goggles, he bumped Hermione’s head, apologised and then removed the eyewear before trying again. The second time, he landed a proper kiss on her cheek before scooping her into a hug that was just as tight as the one George had given her, although it had a very different effect on Hermione.

“I need some advice,” she said, lifting herself up onto the workbench so that her face was level with Fred’s. “You can keep brewing,” she said, indicating his potion.

“Alright,” he replied, shaking a powdery substance into his cauldron. Was he using the activity to avoid making eye contact with her? Hermione had the fleeting thought that he might be, but it was hard to tell. Oh Gods, she thought; what if the perceptive, clever wizard had a suspicion that she liked him, but didn’t feel the same way?

“I received a letter this morning,” she continued, producing the note from her pocket. “From a secret admirer, inviting me to be his date at your Mum and Dad’s impromptu costume party this evening.”

“Well did you now?” Fred grinned, his eyes flashing. “How mysterious and exciting!”

“Hmmmm, I suppose so,” Hermione replied. 

Fred turned back to the cauldron, concentrating again, this time on the accuracy of his wand movements.

“Will you be saying yes?” he asked, still not making eye contact.

“Well, I don’t know.” She paused. Could she risk it? Was it worth it? “You see,” Hermione continued. “The thing is … there’s someone I like.”

Now Fred’s eyes were upon hers immediately; his head cocked to one side and his eyebrows raised, in question. His lips changed position several times as his mouth expressed a series of unreadable – at least to Hermione – emotions before forming itself slowly into a smile that wasn't quite as brilliant as usual.

“Hmmm, tricky,” was his only reply, but then he looked away again; focus still shared between her and the potion. One of those that would eventually be mixed with chocolate, she thought, if the raspberry smell was anything to go by. “And were you planning on asking this wizard you like to be your date to the costume party?”

Her reply was quiet. “I was trying to pluck up the courage. But there’s not much time. I was going to look for a costume today as well. Now I don’t know what to do.”

Fred was by her side again in moments, seeing a sliver of distress. Heaven knows they had all been through enough, and he couldn’t bear to see Hermione uncomfortable in any way. Long arms went around her waist, and he positioned his tall body between her legs, bringing her closer to his chest, cradling her head on his shoulder and stroking her hair. Hermione smelled the scent of his hair and skin and, as ever, it went straight to her core. She hadn't realised at the time, but it was part of what she smelled when they had been introduced to amortentia. Eau de Fred. Distinctly different, even from George. She almost cried at the tenderness Fred showed her. This was why she was fast falling in love with him. Or maybe she already was in love; it was hard to tell. Her feelings had grown, over the years, and it confused her.

Fred was equally confused. He had made his plan as soon as his Mum’s message had arrived and had enlisted his sister’s help. This morning, he had dispatched the little owl just five minutes after securing appropriate outfits from the magical costume shop. The owner had chuckled to find that Fred had been lying in wait for the shop to open, owl at the ready. Not wanting to take the chance that someone else might ask Hermione first, Fred had quickly sent the bird, which he had borrowed from the coffee shop three doors down, so she wouldn’t recognise it as a shop owl. He had half-hoped that Hermione would open the box, enlarge the costume and immediately realise that it was him who had sent it. In fact, in the fantasy that Fred had concocted as he was falling asleep the previous evening, they had been snogging by coffee time.

She clearly hadn’t opened the box.

A sigh escaped Fred’s lips, and he tried to turn it into a thoughtful noise, as if he were considering her options for her. In truth, he was considering his own. He could confess that it was him, but he risked her saying no, or not being ready to take that step. Fred was a betting wizard, and he reckoned there was at least a fifty per cent chance that Hermione liked him as much as he liked her, but they both had a lot to lose. He decided to hedge his bet.

“Go with him,” he said. “Give the bloke a chance. Just see who it is. If you don’t fancy him, I’ll personally ensure that someone rescues you,” he promised. “The bloke you fancy will still be around tomorrow … but maybe your secret admirer will sweep you off your feet and you’ll forget all about him anyway…”

“Okay…” Hermione almost asked Fred if he would agree to rescue her himself, should she not be attracted to her date – which, she knew, she almost certainly wouldn’t, because he wouldn’t be Fred himself – but his potion spluttered, he turned in alarm, and the moment was lost. He was right, she thought. And this would at least give her time to think. The whole thing had been a bit too impromptu for Hermione, and she did like to process things. Especially things as important as telling a wizard that you thought you might have accidentally fallen in love with him while you brewed joke shop products together.

“I’d better get back,” she said. “Thanks for the chat.” And with a last kiss to Fred’s cheek, she had gone back to The Burrow and off for an afternoon of helping Molly finish preparing for the party.

With a relatively short time to get ready, it was all hands on deck and there was little space to think. Molly had rounded up anybody who wasn’t working that day, and they all spent the afternoon putting out drinks, levitating glasses and winding fairy lights through trees. Apples were placed in barrels of water and a few other games were dotted around the lawn. Bill and Charlie were having one of their traditional table jousting tournaments as they arranged furniture to Molly’s liking. Bill’s wife Fleur had cast wards around the men, mainly for the protection of Charlie’s muggle girlfriend, Lauren, who didn’t have the benefit of a wand to hex them with. Hermione laughed as she heard Lauren remind them that Fred and George had gifted her a magical self-aiming catapult and a lifetime supply of dungbombs and flying hexes for her own protection, and she smiled at the small blonde woman as she headed to the house to see whether the little owl had returned with a reply to her acceptance of her mystery admirer’s invitation.

She had. When Hermione reached the kitchen, she found another note. In her reply, earlier in the day, she had said she would be pleased to accept the invitation and costume. Her letter had then asked the sender where he would like to meet and how she would know him. Her admirer had written just two more lines.

“I’ll meet you at The Burrow. Once you’ve got your costume on, you’ll know who you’re looking for.”

That line had intrigued Hermione no end, but Molly and Ginny had kept her so busy that she didn’t have a chance to look at the outfit until she was standing in Ginny’s room another couple of hours later, wearing just a towel. Ginny was stroking potion through Hermione’s hair as Hermione finally pointed her wand at the box that held her costume.

“You need to hurry up,” the younger witch said, admiring the pinky purple colour that she had managed to turn her friend’s hair. Hermione looked gorgeous. “People are starting to arrive! I can hear them outside!”

One whispered ‘engorgio’ later and Hermione was looking at a fairy costume. Her initial suspicion was confirmed when she read the tag and saw the name ‘Tinkerbell’ handwritten in a loopy scrawl. Her eyes glinted and her tummy churned with hope. Only one fellow student had ever shown an interest in her favourite muggle book. He had asked about it late one evening in the Gryffindor common room, after returning from a late night trip to the kitchens. Hands full of cauldron cake, he had sat himself down on the sofa next to her and shared his spoils as, at his request, she gave him a precis of the story. Smiling at the memory, and trying hard not to get her hopes up, just in case, Hermione began to climb into the outfit. 

The costume was charmed, and Hermione herself was charmed in a different way when she discovered that, every time she moved, spirals of glittery dust flew from her hair, torso and limbs. She laughed in delight when Ginny showed Hermione her hair in a mirror, and then was even more excited when she realised that Tinkerbell’s wand fitted onto her own. She could make larger, glitterier spirals of fairy dust with the wand, and she turned to see that the wings fluttered of their own accord. Hermione loved everything about the costume.

But she loved it even more when, prodded on by Ginny, who still refused to discuss her date, she was greeted at the bottom of the stairs by George, dressed as Captain Hook.

“Milady,” he said, taking her arm and leading her out the front door, where he bowed and left her. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed that Oliver was also dressed as a pirate. A very sexy, kilted pirate, and it was clear that Captain Hook was finding it difficult to keep his hands off him.

Hermione looked around for her date, but she was distracted next by the sight of Molly and Arthur, dressed as Tinky Winky and Po, and then by Bill and Charlie, who were looking cool in matching T-Bird outfits while Fleur and Lauren rocked a couple of Pink Ladies jackets.

And then she saw him. Returning from an errand, likely sent by his mum, there stood Fred Weasley. Directly in front of her and resplendent in green outfit and hat; her very own Peter Pan. He handed the bottle of wine that he was carrying to Percy, and then spread his arms, as if presenting himself to Hermione for assessment.

“You’re my date?” she asked. As if she hadn’t been processing this knowledge since she had enlarged the box and remembered their encounter in the common room a few years before.

“Is that OK?” His face held its usual grin and Fred was full of hope but he knew he couldn’t be sure until the younger witch responded.

“Of course.” Hermione shook her head in wonder, still making all the connections. It really all had happened very quickly. “It was you all along,” she said, reaching for his hands as soon as she closed the distance between them and stood in front of him. “Did you know? When I came over this morning?” She searched his eyes.

“Know what, love?” His smile deepened; he couldn’t help but fish for the words he hoped to hear.

“That you were the man I was going to ask to be my date … if I hadn’t said yes to the note?” She thought the smile might never leave her face. Neither had a clue that they were being watched by most of the Weasley family, with Ginny whispering the story to those who didn’t know what had been going on.

“I had hoped,” he said, stroking a bit of her pinky, purpley hair with his fingers. “But I didn’t want to take any chances. Just in case you fancied Neville,” he said, winking and then tipping his head to get Hermione to look to her left, where Neville was hand-in-hand with Hannah, both dressed as cacti. “I don’t know how they’re going to get close enough to snog … all those spikes,” he whispered in Hermione’s ear, making her giggle. “That was a poor decision on Neville’s part. He’s cock blocked himself there…”

Hermione laughed, and then turned back to Fred, wanting to ensure she fully understood before her own hopes grew too large to be contained. “So does this mean what I hope it does? That you like me in the same way that I like you?” she asked. “That you might be interested in going on a date sometime? Not just tonight, I mean?”

“Hermione Jean,” he said, his face close to hers and his blue eyes dark with attraction. “I’m standing here, in front of all of my siblings and Lee, wearing a pair of green tights and a fucking mini skirt made of petals. If that doesn’t say, ‘I love you’, I honestly don’t know what will!”

It took Hermione approximately four seconds to process what he had said, another two to process her decision and then, without further delay, her mouth was reaching for his.

Fred sighed as he met her kiss; his lips warm and soft as they connected with Hermione’s. He smiled when he felt her tongue on his bottom lip and then gently tangling with his own. They each tipped their heads to one side and wove their fingers into the other’s hair. Half the Weasleys and many of their friends began clapping, cheering and whistling, but the pair ignored them. They snogged and stroked for several minutes, more softly than Fred had imagined in his dreams, but it had the effect of leaving him hard and wanting.

“Don’t you dare move away,” he muttered into Hermione’s ear when they broke apart. He clasped his arms around her. “With what you’ve done to me, in this skirt, I’ll terrify the children!”

Hermione smiled and pressed herself to him even more closely. Then she showed him her wand, delighting them both by making a glittery spiral in the process. “Don’t worry,” she said to those around them, firmly locking her arm around his waist. “I’m borrowing Fred for a short while,” she informed their family and friends as she prepared to apparate them both, racking her mind for the best place to take him. “We’ll be back for the apple bobbing…”

“Wait, I’ve got something better than apparition!” Fred said, producing a short length of stick, seemingly from nowhere, and turning Hermione around before clasping her to the front of his body with a long arm around her waist. Hermione was so busy trying to work out what was happening to their costumes, which seemed to be activating another piece of magic, that she didn’t see the look Fred gave his twin when he next spoke. Nor did she see George prodding his boyfriend. “Make fairy dust, Tinkerbell,” Fred said softly into Hermione’s ear. As she obeyed, she did see George and Oliver move their wands, casting a weight-reducing spell on each of them.

“Up!” Fred spoke clearly, as soon as Hermione had waved her wand and showered them in fairy dust, and they lifted gently off the ground, thanks to the combination of the costumes, spells and, Hermione suspected, a bit of old broomstick. Fred must have worked on that trick all afternoon. “Off to Neverland!” he declared, making his assembled family smile and laugh to see him looking so proud while Hermione’s emotions seemed to waver between delight, astonishment and slight trepidation at this new mode of flying.

“Well, she may as well get used to it,” Molly said, but not unkindly at all. She was delighted at this turn of events, and Arthur was equally pleased.

Neverland turned out to be the old Weasley treehouse, just a hundred and fifty yards from where they had taken off. Fred flew Hermione up to the little door, which he was clearly going to have to bend in order to get through these days, and then gently stood her on her own feet, sliding his arm around her waist so they were standing side by side. Hermione tried not to look to see if the evidence of his attraction to her was still present.

“Would you like to come in?”

Hermione nodded, excitedly, for she had never seen inside the treehouse before, and smiled at Fred as he waved his arm and ushered her in before him. Just as with so many magical rooms, the inside had been enlarged. It reminded Hermione a bit of the Gryffindor common room, but that was mainly, she thought, because the sofa and both armchairs were red, and there was a house banner on one wall, along with a few posters of quidditch players and pictures ripped from magical comic books. 

“This is great,” she said, as Fred took her hand and led her to a low sofa, on which he sat before encouraging Hermione to sit on his lap. Rather than sitting sideways, she chose to straddle him, slipping her hips forward until she could feel the answer to her question. Yes, he was still very turned on.

Then she surprised him. “Want me to take care of that?” she asked, making Fred’s eyes widen in delight and surprise. He squeaked as she ran her fingers over his hips, under the green skirt, and then up to his waist, feeling for the top of his tights.

“I don’t want our first shag to be in the treehouse while I’m wearing a mini skirt!” he exclaimed. “I think we can manage something a bit nicer than that! Besides,” his voice became quieter, “if we’re gone for more than twenty minutes, they’ll send someone, and it’ll probably be one of my siblings!”

“I wasn’t offering you a shag. Not at this moment, anyway,” Hermione purred into his ear as she tugged on the top of his tights. “Lift!” she instructed, raising herself onto her knees, and he obeyed. Hermione smiled to herself. She always liked that about Weasley men; they had been well trained to follow any instructions issued in a confident female voice. For the most part. 

Having wriggled Fred’s green tights halfway down his thighs, Hermione raised her eyebrows seductively when she had realised that Fred wasn’t wearing any underwear. She took his hard cock into her hands, added a quick and wandless lubrication spell, and began to rub while looking into Fred’s eyes. He leaned forward, kissing her, and reached out to burrow his fingers under her knickers. He was so turned on that it took just a few minutes for Hermione to bring him to orgasm, and his head tipped back onto the sofa as he began to simultaneously groan and laugh with delight.

“I’m never letting you go,” he told Hermione, as he cast a quick cleaning spell and then wrapped strong arms around her waist, lifting and tipping her back onto the sofa. He had forgotten the weight-reducing charms, and they both giggled as he overreached and then had to quickly compensate. “Off,” he muttered, in the direction of her knickers, and then Hermione was lost in the sensation of him licking and kissing her pussy while he reached his long fingers inside her. His actions drew soft moans of happiness from her lips and, much to their mutual delight, a bright, glittery shower when she began to come and moved her arms and legs. Her movement activated her costume to release its own magic and send spirals of fairy dust off her as if they were fireworks launched to celebrate his achievement. Seeing her delight at the effect made Fred determined to analyse that magic before he returned their outfits on Monday.

“Well that was bloody lovely,” he said, crawling up beside his witch so they could lay together for a few minutes before putting their costumes to rights. Hermione leaned over to kiss his lips, and her tummy fluttered as she tasted herself on Fred.

“Maybe we can continue this later,” Hermione said, and Fred eagerly nodded his agreement. At Oliver’s suggestion, he had washed his sheets, put all his dirty socks in the laundry basket and bought a cinnamon scented candle for his bedroom, and it was nice to know that his domestic efforts might be worthwhile. Fred loved to tease Oliver and George for acting like an old married couple after being together for just a few months, but he loved the consequences of their coupledom. They had been grocery shopping that day, and Fred knew that the fridge was stocked with the makings of a full English breakfast. He allowed himself to fantasise about the idea of waking up the next morning, his arms full of Hermione, and making love to her before the two couples enjoyed a lazy, cosy Sunday morning eating breakfast together. Maybe they would go for a walk in Diagon Alley, taking the chance to peer into the shop windows when it wasn’t busy. Or maybe Olly and George would decide they wanted to fly to Devon and he and Hermione would go back to bed before heading over to The Burrow for Molly’s roast dinner.

But first, there was a party to be attended. So, twenty minutes after they had left for Neverland, Hermione and Fred walked back towards The Burrow, hand in hand and mostly decent, ready to join their family festivities, and accept the teasing and congratulations that they both knew would come their way.

“You okay in your skirt and tights til later now?” Hermione asked, giving Fred a wink which made him have to think about a certain professor to ensure that he wouldn’t end up with the same problem that she had just relieved him of with her clever hands and whispered words. 

“As long as you stop looking at me like that,” he said.

“Next year,” she promised, as they arrived in the area where Molly had set out the food and drink and he reached for a mug of hot, boozy, spiced cider for each of them, “we can pick different costumes. No tights.”

“Oh yes?” Fred asked. “Who will we go as next time then?” He leaned closer. “I like that you’re thinking we’ll be together next year…”

Hermione smiled at him for a few seconds before she replied, and he nodded. They both knew full well they’d still be together next year. They both knew this was it for them. They had been heading here for a long time, and it was lovely to have arrived.

Before she could answer, a flash of movement caught their attention. Two pirates were play fighting with their swords on the other side of the garden, where they had been sent by Molly, who was concerned about them accidentally breaking something. Fred’s eyes lit up when he saw their swords flashing, and then grew soft when he saw Oliver knocking George’s sword out of his hand and then pressing the younger wizard up against the trunk of a tree, claiming a long, hard kiss as his reward for victory.

“Well,” Hermione said seriously, “Perhaps we could go as Arthur and Guinevere.” And then she smiled. “It means you’d get a sword, like George and Oliver, instead of a mini skirt.”

“Wicked,” Fred grinned, and then he pulled her back into his arms. “For that, Hermione,” he said, his lips descending again, “you can keep me all night.”


End file.
